The implication is loud and clear and hits much harder than she would have expected... as does the choice at hand.
"Why?" she she hisses, shaking her head. There's a touch of relief that, okay, he's not a horrible person in choosing to spare her from manipulation, but then-
"That idiot... we're..." There's very little conviction in her voice, even as she backs away from Duke, still clutching the book. She's not sure whether to confront Zaveid or to avoid him for the rest of...forever.
"He could have at least said something," she bites, more in a rise of anxiety than actual spite. She snaps the book shut and offers it back to him, unsure of what exactly to do.
On one hand, she had left him boiling in anger and sounding as though he might literally eat her should she push him any further, and on the other... on the other, she knows somewhere deep down that she can't continue to run from him, if they're going to make eternity work at all.
Either way, Duke is right, and she doesn't exactly want to pester him for answers he's not likely to give her. Desperate as she is, she still doesn't exactly want to discuss this with an almost stranger.
"...thanks," she finally mumbles, turning to go, embarrassed and hurt by her failed preparations.
To consider that as a basic need isn't something that she's ever thought of as unreasonable, but at this scale...
She hands him the book and heads back out of the library, working her way back to their room and trying not to panic as she tries to figure out how to approach this...and once this is handled, how to approach her Council without burning them all from the inside out.
Duke thinks they could use a good burning, to be quite honest, but he's going to retire to his tea and Not Pay Attention To Anything Else.
Zaveid has returned to just a mess of frustration, and now that she knows what she's looking for, an interesting sort of desperately hungry. While not as bad as the book said it could get, it was probably a little clear that he was locking himself away in the bathroom to prevent any sort of instinctual... anything.
She presses her forehead to the door, steadying herself with a few deep breaths before she finally opens it and heads inside, shutting it carefully behind her before slowly crossing to the bathroom door instead.
Her throat is tight, but the frustration spilling out from behind the door, while it scares her, tugs at something different this time. Shit...
"Go to sleep, princess-" Zaveid grumbles it. The intensity of what he's feeling gives away that he most definitely wasn't almost asleep, despite the roughness of his voice.
"Zaveid." Her tone's a touch more resolute this time, even if still as gentle as she can manage, given the circumstances. There's a pause as she summons a kernel of her power and sends it through to him- that aura of calm comfort and warmth. "Let me in."
A soft thunk, like his head is on the door, a sound that should have been fingers on the latch but didn't sound quite right.
"I'm..." A breathy admitting, the relief is soon, and something small and bright that she's actually accepting him in someway More Important than simply being married. "Not quite myself." And the door opens.
That's really all the warning he has for the fact that he's in the early stages of a draconic transformation, scales highlighting along his cheekbones, spine, in rough edges along his hands and arms. His full crown of horns is present, as is distinctly Wrong eyes.
... Dove has about two breaths to realize this before he is carefully reaching for her to press his mouth to hers.
There's a flicker of hope as he draws closer, as the latch slowly slides away, even as her heart begins to quicken its pace. Close... they're close to something, and she steels her resolve as the door finally slides away.
For a moment, that brief spark of a beat, she can only stare, enchanted and shocked all at once. Wrong, perhaps, but raw, and real, and him.
Two or no, she's not entirely sure she's breathing as he reaches for her, and she finds herself falling into his hold all too willingly. Be it his spilling influence or a shift between them or a need she hasn't allowed herself to admit, there's little hesitation in the way her lips meet his.
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"Why?" she she hisses, shaking her head. There's a touch of relief that, okay, he's not a horrible person in choosing to spare her from manipulation, but then-
"That idiot... we're..." There's very little conviction in her voice, even as she backs away from Duke, still clutching the book. She's not sure whether to confront Zaveid or to avoid him for the rest of...forever.
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"That would go over well, wouldn't it." Sarcasm! He does know it.
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On one hand, she had left him boiling in anger and sounding as though he might literally eat her should she push him any further, and on the other... on the other, she knows somewhere deep down that she can't continue to run from him, if they're going to make eternity work at all.
Either way, Duke is right, and she doesn't exactly want to pester him for answers he's not likely to give her. Desperate as she is, she still doesn't exactly want to discuss this with an almost stranger.
"...thanks," she finally mumbles, turning to go, embarrassed and hurt by her failed preparations.
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There's a faint hum, a flicker of acceptance, he heard you.
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She hands him the book and heads back out of the library, working her way back to their room and trying not to panic as she tries to figure out how to approach this...and once this is handled, how to approach her Council without burning them all from the inside out.
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Zaveid has returned to just a mess of frustration, and now that she knows what she's looking for, an interesting sort of desperately hungry. While not as bad as the book said it could get, it was probably a little clear that he was locking himself away in the bathroom to prevent any sort of instinctual... anything.
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Her throat is tight, but the frustration spilling out from behind the door, while it scares her, tugs at something different this time. Shit...
"... Zaveid? Let...Let me in."
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"Do y'know what your asking?" What will happen if she comes in here, anything like that.
He's closer, the desperation-could-be-over and frustration at not being sure, don't jump at it-
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"...Yes."
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"I'm..." A breathy admitting, the relief is soon, and something small and bright that she's actually accepting him in someway More Important than simply being married. "Not quite myself." And the door opens.
That's really all the warning he has for the fact that he's in the early stages of a draconic transformation, scales highlighting along his cheekbones, spine, in rough edges along his hands and arms. His full crown of horns is present, as is distinctly Wrong eyes.
... Dove has about two breaths to realize this before he is carefully reaching for her to press his mouth to hers.
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For a moment, that brief spark of a beat, she can only stare, enchanted and shocked all at once. Wrong, perhaps, but raw, and real, and him.
Two or no, she's not entirely sure she's breathing as he reaches for her, and she finds herself falling into his hold all too willingly. Be it his spilling influence or a shift between them or a need she hasn't allowed herself to admit, there's little hesitation in the way her lips meet his.